


Back to Someplace

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-02
Updated: 2007-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His eyes are too old for ten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to Someplace

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: [](http://eloise-bright.livejournal.com/profile)[**eloise_bright**](http://eloise-bright.livejournal.com/) is hosting a [Hug-A-Winchester challenge](http://eloise-bright.livejournal.com/143498.html); and now there's this. Funny how that works.

The nurse pushing the wheelchair can't be more than nineteen, her dark hair cropped short, her eyes a lot older than her face. She stops and reaches down to poke Dean's skinny shoulder playfully. "Okay kid, ride's over."

Dean scoots out of the wheelchair like it's some kind of torture device, as if she's a dentist instead of a nurse; and John watches his son closely, seeing him in vivid detail as he takes stock, looking for any sign of damage other than the faint traces of soot at the edges of his face and all over his clothes too.

Christ, his eyes are too old for ten and John wonders at himself that he could have let that happen; the flicker of pride he feels makes him ashamed.

"He okay?" John says as Dean comes over to stand beside him with his shoulders slumped, unusually subdued.

"Doin' fine." The nurse wrinkles her nose in a friendly way at Dean, but he only gives her a dull stare back. "Needed a little oxygen after all that smoke he inhaled is all."

Bringing his hand down gently on Dean's shoulder, John turns him and starts to leave, then thinks to pause and say over his shoulder, his smile feeling small, "Thanks."

"Tough kid you've got there, mister." She's barely more than a kid herself.

 _You don't know the half of it,_ he wants to say, but keeps that to himself.

"Dad, can we go? Dad?" Dean says under his breath, as if he's afraid something will overhear; then, louder, he looks at the cute nurse and mutters, "Thank you."

"Any time, darlin'."

There are discharge forms to sign, and then they finally escape out into the forgiving summer night. When they reach the car, Dean grabs the handle of the passenger door and John reaches down and touches his shoulder again.

"What in hell were you thinking?" he says, more awed than angry.

"I thought I could get rid of the spook." Dean's fingers clench around the Impala's door handle, his hand pale against the chrome and black.

John almost laughs. "Oh, you got rid of it all right. Along with the whole Peterson place. The historical society's going to be PO'd." Then his fear rises in his gut and the words slip free harsher than he intends: "You could have gotten yourself killed."

"I'm sorry," Dean says, no more than a whisper. Then, his grip on the car even more fierce, he adds, louder, "I thought I could do it. I did everything that you always do only something went wrong when I dropped the match and the flames went up too fast --"

John hears the crack in his boy's voice. "C'mere," he says, and kneels. Dean meets his gaze. "You scared me. Next time I say wait in the yard, you wait in the yard. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"And next time--" John reaches out and pulls Dean into a hug, his chin tucking on top of Dean's head; he feels too frail in his arms, too skinny, heart thudding too hard against John's chest. Dean hugs him back, the strength in the wiry arms astonishing. "Next time," John finishes, "use less lighter fluid." He lets go and stands up.

"Got it," says Dean. "Can we go back to Pastor Jim's now? I'll bet Sammy's real worried."

"I'll bet he is."

It's never _go home_ ; only back to someplace.

But John knows that's what he means.


End file.
